PART II - IX

The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Translated by Eva Martin

PART II - IX, THE IDIOT by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
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"You will not deny, I am sure," said Gavrila Ardalionovitch,
turning to Burdovsky, who sat looking at him with wide-open eyes,
perplexed and astonished. You will not deny, seriously, that you
were born just two years after your mother's legal marriage to
Mr. Burdovsky, your father. Nothing would be easier than to prove
the date of your birth from well-known facts; we can only look on
Mr. Keller's version as a work of imagination, and one, moreover,
extremely offensive both to you and your mother. Of course he
distorted the truth in order to strengthen your claim, and to
serve your interests. Mr. Keller said that he previously
consulted you about his article in the paper, but did not read it
to you as a whole. Certainly he could not have read that passage.
.. . .

"As a matter of fact, I did not read it," interrupted the boxer,
"but its contents had been given me on unimpeachable authority,
and I . . ."

"Excuse me, Mr. Keller," interposed Gavrila Ardalionovitch.
"Allow me to speak. I assure you your article shall be mentioned
in its proper place, and you can then explain everything, but for
the moment I would rather not anticipate. Quite accidentally,
with the help of my sister, Varvara Ardalionovna Ptitsin, I
obtained from one of her intimate friends, Madame Zoubkoff, a
letter written to her twenty-five years ago, by Nicolai
Andreevitch Pavlicheff, then abroad. After getting into
communication with this lady, I went by her advice to Timofei
Fedorovitch Viazovkin, a retired colonel, and one of Pavlicheff's
oldest friends. He gave me two more letters written by the latter
when he was still in foreign parts. These three documents, their
dates, and the facts mentioned in them, prove in the most
undeniable manner, that eighteen months before your birth,
Nicolai Andreevitch went abroad, where he remained for three
consecutive years. Your mother, as you are well aware, has never
been out of Russia. . . . It is too late to read the letters now;
I am content to state the fact. But if you desire it, come to me
tomorrow morning, bring witnesses and writing experts with you,
and I will prove the absolute truth of my story. From that moment
the question will be decided."

These words caused a sensation among the listeners, and there was
a general movement of relief. Burdovsky got up abruptly.

"If that is true," said he, "I have been deceived, grossly
deceived, but not by Tchebaroff: and for a long time past, a long
time. I do not wish for experts, not I, nor to go to see you. I
believe you. I give it up.... But I refuse the ten thousand
roubles. Good-bye."

"Wait five minutes more, Mr. Burdovsky," said Gavrila
Ardalionovitch pleasantly. "I have more to say. Some rather
curious and important facts have come to light, and it is
absolutely necessary, in my opinion, that you should hear them.
You will not regret, I fancy, to have the whole matter thoroughly
cleared up."

Burdovsky silently resumed his seat, and bent his head as though
in profound thought. His friend, Lebedeff's nephew, who had risen
to accompany him, also sat down again. He seemed much disappointed,
though as self-confident as ever. Hippolyte looked dejected and
sulky, as well as surprised. He had just been attacked by a violent
fit of coughing, so that his handkerchief was stained with blood.
The boxer looked thoroughly frightened.

"Oh, Antip!" cried he in a miserable voice, "I did say to you the
other day--the day before yesterday--that perhaps you were not
really Pavlicheff's son!"

There were sounds of half-smothered laughter at this.

"Now, that is a valuable piece of information, Mr. Keller,"
replied Gania. "However that may be, I have private information
which convinces me that Mr. Burdovsky, though doubtless aware of
the date of his birth, knew nothing at all about Pavlicheff's
sojourn abroad. Indeed, he passed the greater part of his life
out of Russia, returning at intervals for short visits. The
journey in question is in itself too unimportant for his friends
to recollect it after more than twenty years; and of course Mr.
Burdovsky could have known nothing about it, for he was not born.
As the event has proved, it was not impossible to find evidence
of his absence, though I must confess that chance has helped me
in a quest which might very well have come to nothing. It was
really almost impossible for Burdovsky or Tchebaroff to discover
these facts, even if it had entered their heads to try. Naturally
they never dreamt...

Here the voice of Hippolyte suddenly intervened.

"Allow me, Mr. Ivolgin," he said irritably. "What is the good of
all this rigmarole? Pardon me. All is now clear, and we
acknowledge the truth of your main point. Why go into these
tedious details? You wish perhaps to boast of the cleverness of
your investigation, to cry up your talents as detective? Or
perhaps your intention is to excuse Burdovsky, by roving that he
took up the matter in ignorance? Well, I consider that extremely
impudent on your part! You ought to know that Burdovsky has no
need of being excused or justified by you or anyone else! It is
an insult! The affair is quite painful enough for him without
that. Will nothing make you understand?"

"Enough! enough! Mr. Terentieff," interrupted Gania.

"Don't excite yourself; you seem very ill, and I am sorry for
that. I am almost done, but there are a few facts to which I
must briefly refer, as I am convinced that they ought to be
clearly explained once for all. . . ." A movement of impatience
was noticed in his audience as he resumed: "I merely wish to
state, for the information of all concerned, that the reason for
Mr. Pavlicheff's interest in your mother, Mr. Burdovsky, was
simply that she was the sister of a serf-girl with whom he was
deeply in love in his youth, and whom most certainly he would
have married but for her sudden death. I have proofs that this
circumstance is almost, if not quite, forgotten. I may add that
when your mother was about ten years old, Pavlicheff took her
under his care, gave her a good education, and later, a
considerable dowry. His relations were alarmed, and feared he
might go so far as to marry her, but she gave her hand to a young
land-surveyor named Burdovsky when she reached the age of twenty.
I can even say definitely that it was a marriage of affection.
After his wedding your father gave up his occupation as land-
surveyor, and with his wife's dowry of fifteen thousand roubles
went in for commercial speculations. As he had had no experience,
he was cheated on all sides, and took to drink in order to forget
his troubles. He shortened his life by his excesses, and eight
years after his marriage he died. Your mother says herself that
she was left in the direst poverty, and would have died of
starvation had it not been for Pavlicheff, who generously allowed
her a yearly pension of six hundred roubles. Many people recall
his extreme fondness for you as a little boy. Your mother
confirms this, and agrees with others in thinking that he loved
you the more because you were a sickly child, stammering in your
speech, and almost deformed--for it is known that all his life
Nicolai Andreevitch had a partiality for unfortunates of every
kind, especially children. In my opinion this is most important.
I may add that I discovered yet another fact, the last on which I
employed my detective powers. Seeing how fond Pavlicheff was of
you,--it was thanks to him you went to school, and also had the
advantage of special teachers--his relations and servants grew to
believe that you were his son, and that your father had been
betrayed by his wife. I may point out that this idea was only
accredited generally during the last years of Pavlicheff's life,
when his next-of-kin were trembling about the succession, when
the earlier story was quite forgotten, and when all opportunity
for discovering the truth had seemingly passed away. No doubt you,
Mr. Burdovsky, heard this conjecture, and did not hesitate to accept
it as true. I have had the honour of making your mother's acquaintance,
and I find that she knows all about these reports. What she does
not know is that you, her son, should have listened to them so
complaisantly. I found your respected mother at Pskoff, ill and
in deep poverty, as she has been ever since the death of your
benefactor. She told me with tears of gratitude how you had
supported her; she expects much of you, and believes fervently
in your future success..."

"Oh, this is unbearable!" said Lebedeff's nephew impatiently.
"What is the good of all this romancing?"

"It is revolting and unseemly!" cried Hippolyte, jumping up in a
fury.

Burdovsky alone sat silent and motionless.

"What is the good of it?" repeated Gavrila Ardalionovitch, with
pretended surprise. "Well, firstly, because now perhaps Mr.
Burdovsky is quite convinced that Mr. Pavlicheff's love for him
came simply from generosity of soul, and not from paternal duty.
It was most necessary to impress this fact upon his mind,
considering that he approved of the article written by Mr.
Keller. I speak thus because I look on you, Mr. Burdovsky, as an
honourable man. Secondly, it appears that there was no intention
of cheating in this case, even on the part of Tchebaroff. I wish
to say this quite plainly, because the prince hinted a while ago
that I too thought it an attempt at robbery and extortion. On the
contrary, everyone has been quite sincere in the matter, and
although Tchebaroff may be somewhat of a rogue, in this business
he has acted simply as any sharp lawyer would do under the
circumstances. He looked at it as a case that might bring him in
a lot of money, and he did not calculate badly; because on the
one hand he speculated on the generosity of the prince, and his
gratitude to the late Mr. Pavlicheff, and on the other to his
chivalrous ideas as to the obligations of honour and conscience.
As to Mr. Burdovsky, allowing for his principles, we may
acknowledge that he engaged in the business with very little
personal aim in view. At the instigation of Tchebaroff and his
other friends, he decided to make the attempt in the service of
truth, progress, and humanity. In short, the conclusion may be
drawn that, in spite of all appearances, Mr. Burdovsky is a man
of irreproachable character, and thus the prince can all the more
readily offer him his friendship, and the assistance of which he
spoke just now..."

"Hush! hush! Gavrila Ardalionovitch!" cried Muishkin in dismay,
but it was too late.

"I said, and I have repeated it over and over again," shouted
Burdovsky furiously, "that I did not want the money. I will not
take it... why...I will not... I am going away!"

He was rushing hurriedly from the terrace, when Lebedeff's nephew
seized his arms, and said something to him in a low voice.
Burdovsky turned quickly, and drawing an addressed but unsealed
envelope from his pocket, he threw it down on a little table
beside the prince.

"There's the money!... How dare you?...The money!"

"Those are the two hundred and fifty roubles you dared to send
him as a charity, by the hands of Tchebaroff," explained
Doktorenko.

"The article in the newspaper put it at fifty!" cried Colia.

"I beg your pardon," said the prince, going up to Burdovsky. "I
have done you a great wrong, but I did not send you that money as
a charity, believe me. And now I am again to blame. I offended
you just now." (The prince was much distressed; he seemed worn
out with fatigue, and spoke almost incoherently.) "I spoke of
swindling... but I did not apply that to you. I was deceived
.... I said you were... afflicted... like me... But you are
not like me... you give lessons... you support your mother. I
said you had dishonoured your mother, but you love her. She says
so herself... I did not know... Gavrila Ardalionovitch did
not tell me that... Forgive me! I dared to offer you ten
thousand roubles, but I was wrong. I ought to have done it
differently, and now... there is no way of doing it, for you
despise me..."

"I declare, this is a lunatic asylum!" cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna.

"Of course it is a lunatic asylum!" repeated Aglaya sharply, but
her words were overpowered by other voices. Everybody was talking
loudly, making remarks and comments; some discussed the affair
gravely, others laughed. Ivan Fedorovitch Epanchin was extremely
indignant. He stood waiting for his wife with an air of offended
dignity. Lebedeff's nephew took up the word again.

"Well, prince, to do you justice, you certainly know how to make
the most of your--let us call it infirmity, for the sake of
politeness; you have set about offering your money and friendship
in such a way that no self-respecting man could possibly accept
them. This is an excess of ingenuousness or of malice--you ought
to know better than anyone which word best fits the case."

"Allow me, gentlemen," said Gavrila Ardalionovitch, who had just
examined the contents of the envelope, "there are only a hundred
roubles here, not two hundred and fifty. I point this out,
prince, to prevent misunderstanding."

"Never mind, never mind," said the prince, signing to him to keep
quiet.

"But we do mind," said Lebedeff's nephew vehemently. "Prince,
your 'never mind' is an insult to us. We have nothing to hide;
our actions can bear daylight. It is true that there are only a
hundred roubles instead of two hundred and fifty, but it is all
the same."

"Why, no, it is hardly the same," remarked Gavrila
Ardalionovitch, with an air of ingenuous surprise.

"Don't interrupt, we are not such fools as you think, Mr.
Lawyer," cried Lebedeff's nephew angrily. "Of course there is a
difference between a hundred roubles and two hundred and fifty,
but in this case the principle is the main point, and that a
hundred and fifty roubles are missing is only a side issue. The
point to be emphasized is that Burdovsky will not accept your
highness's charity; he flings it back in your face, and it
scarcely matters if there are a hundred roubles or two hundred
and fifty. Burdovsky has refused ten thousand roubles; you heard
him. He would not have returned even a hundred roubles if he was
dishonest! The hundred and fifty roubles were paid to Tchebaroff
for his travelling expenses. You may jeer at our stupidity and at
our inexperience in business matters; you have done all you could
already to make us look ridiculous; but do not dare to call us
dishonest. The four of us will club together every day to repay
the hundred and fifty roubles to the prince, if we have to pay it
in instalments of a rouble at a time, but we will repay it, with
interest. Burdovsky is poor, he has no millions. After his
journey to see the prince Tchebaroff sent in his bill. We counted
on winning... Who would not have done the same in such a case?"

"Who indeed?" exclaimed Prince S.

"I shall certainly go mad, if I stay here!" cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna.

"It reminds me," said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing, "of the
famous plea of a certain lawyer who lately defended a man for
murdering six people in order to rob them. He excused his client
on the score of poverty. 'It is quite natural,' he said in
conclusion, 'considering the state of misery he was in, that he
should have thought of murdering these six people; which of you,
gentlemen, would not have done the same in his place?'"

"Enough," cried Lizabetha Prokofievna abruptly, trembling with
anger, "we have had enough of this balderdash!"

In a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head, with
flaming eyes, casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the
whole company, in which she could no longer distinguish friend
from foe. She had restrained herself so long that she felt forced
to vent her rage on somebody. Those who knew Lizabetha
Prokofievna saw at once how it was with her. "She flies into
these rages sometimes," said Ivan Fedorovitch to Prince S. the
next day, "but she is not often so violent as she was yesterday;
it does not happen more than once in three years."

"Be quiet, Ivan Fedorovitch! Leave me alone!" cried Mrs.
Epanchin. "Why do you offer me your arm now? You had not sense
enough to take me away before. You are my husband, you are a
father, it was your duty to drag me away by force, if in my folly
I refused to obey you and go quietly. You might at least have
thought of your daughters. We can find our way out now without
your help. Here is shame enough for a year! Wait a moment 'till I
thank the prince! Thank you, prince, for the entertainment you
have given us! It was most amusing to hear these young men... It
is vile, vile! A chaos, a scandal, worse than a nightmare! Is it
possible that there can be many such people on earth? Be quiet,
Aglaya! Be quiet, Alexandra! It is none of your business! Don't
fuss round me like that, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you exasperate me!
So, my dear," she cried, addressing the prince, "you go so far as
to beg their pardon! He says, 'Forgive me for offering you a
fortune.' And you, you mountebank, what are you laughing at?" she
cried, turning suddenly on Lebedeff's nephew. "'We refuse ten
thousand roubles; we do not beseech, we demand!' As if he did not
know that this idiot will call on them tomorrow to renew his
offers of money and friendship. You will, won't you? You will?
Come, will you, or won't you?"

"I shall," said the prince, with gentle humility.

"You hear him! You count upon it, too," she continued, turning
upon Doktorenko. "You are as sure of him now as if you had the
money in your pocket. And there you are playing the swaggerer to
throw dust in our eyes! No, my dear sir, you may take other
people in! I can see through all your airs and graces, I see your
game!"

"Lizabetha Prokofievna!" exclaimed the prince.

"Come, Lizabetha Prokofievna, it is quite time for us to be
going, we will take the prince with us," said Prince S. with a
smile, in the coolest possible way.

The girls stood apart, almost frightened; their father was
positively horrified. Mrs. Epanchin's language astonished
everybody. Some who stood a little way off smiled furtively, and
talked in whispers. Lebedeff wore an expression of utmost
ecstasy.

"Chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, madame," remarked
Doktorenko, who was considerably put out of countenance.

"Not like this! Nothing like the spectacle you have just given
us, sir," answered Lizabetha Prokofievna, with a sort of
hysterical rage. "Leave me alone, will you?" she cried violently
to those around her, who were trying to keep her quiet. "No,
Evgenie Pavlovitch, if, as you said yourself just now, a lawyer
said in open court that he found it quite natural that a man
should murder six people because he was in misery, the world must
be coming to an end. I had not heard of it before. Now I
understand everything. And this stutterer, won't he turn out a
murderer?" she cried, pointing to Burdovsky, who was staring at
her with stupefaction. "I bet he will! He will have none of your
money, possibly, he will refuse it because his conscience will
not allow him to accept it, but he will go murdering you by night
and walking off with your cashbox, with a clear conscience! He
does not call it a dishonest action but 'the impulse of a noble
despair'; 'a negation'; or the devil knows what! Bah! everything
is upside down, everyone walks head downwards. A young girl,
brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of
the street, saying: 'Good-bye, mother, I married Karlitch, or
Ivanitch, the other day!' And you think it quite right? You call
such conduct estimable and natural? The 'woman question'? Look
here," she continued, pointing to Colia, "the other day that
whippersnapper told me that this was the whole meaning of the
'woman question.' But even supposing that your mother is a fool,
you are none the less, bound to treat her with humanity. Why did
you come here tonight so insolently? 'Give us our rights, but
don't dare to speak in our presence. Show us every mark of
deepest respect, while we treat you like the scum of the earth.'
The miscreants have written a tissue of calumny in their article,
and these are the men who seek for truth, and do battle for the
right! 'We do not beseech, we demand, you will get no thanks from
us, because you will be acting to satisfy your own conscience!'
What morality! But, good. heavens! if you declare that the
prince's generosity will, excite no gratitude in you, he might
answer that he is not, bound to be grateful to Pavlicheff, who
also was only satisfying his own conscience. But you counted on
the prince's, gratitude towards Pavlicheff; you never lent him
any money; he owes you nothing; then what were you counting upon
if not on his gratitude? And if you appeal to that sentiment in
others, why should you expect to be exempted from it? They are
mad! They say society is savage and. inhuman because it despises
a young girl who has been seduced. But if you call society
inhuman you imply that the young girl is made to suffer by its
censure. How then, can you hold her up to the scorn of society in
the newspapers without realizing that you are making her
suffering, still greater? Madmen! Vain fools! They don't believe
in God, they don't believe in Christ! But you are so eaten. up by
pride and vanity, that you will end by devouring each other--that
is my prophecy! Is not this absurd? Is it not monstrous chaos?
And after all this, that shameless creature will go and beg their
pardon! Are there many people like you? What are you smiling at?
Because I am not ashamed to disgrace myself before you?--Yes, I
am disgraced--it can't be helped now! But don't you jeer at me,
you scum!" (this was aimed at Hippolyte). "He is almost at his
last gasp, yet he corrupts others. You, have got hold of this lad
"--(she pointed to Colia); "you, have turned his head, you have
taught him to be an atheist, you don't believe in God, and you
are not too old to be whipped, sir! A plague upon you! And so,
Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, you will call on them tomorrow, will
you?" she asked the prince breathlessly, for the second time.

"Yes."

"Then I will never speak to you again." She made a sudden
movement to go, and then turned quickly back. "And you will call
on that atheist?" she continued, pointing to Hippolyte. "How dare
you grin at me like that?" she shouted furiously, rushing at the
invalid, whose mocking smile drove her to distraction.

Exclamations arose on all sides.

"Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha
Prokofievna!"

"Mother, this is disgraceful!" cried Aglaya.

Mrs. Epanchin had approached Hippolyte and seized him firmly by
the arm, while her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his
face.

"Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovitch," he answered
calmly; "your mother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. I
am ready to explain why I was laughing. I shall be delighted if
you will let me--"

A violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, prevented
him from finishing his sentence.

"He is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth!" cried
Lizabetha Prokofievna. She loosed her hold on his arm, almost
terrified, as she saw him wiping the blood from his lips. "Why do
you talk? You ought to go home to bed."

"So I will," he whispered hoarsely. "As soon as I get home I will
go to bed at once; and I know I shall be dead in a fortnight;
Botkine told me so himself last week. That is why I should like
to say a few farewell words, if you will let me."

"But you must be mad! It is ridiculous! You should take care of
yourself; what is the use of holding a conversation now? Go home
to bed, do!" cried Mrs. Epanchin in horror.

"When I do go to bed I shall never get up again," said Hippolyte,
with a smile. "I meant to take to my bed yesterday and stay there
till I died, but as my legs can still carry me, I put it off for
two days, so as to come here with them to-day--but I am very
tired."

"Oh, sit down, sit down, why are you standing?"

Lizabetha Prokofievna placed a chair for him with her own hands.

"Thank you," he said gently. "Sit opposite to me, and let us
talk. We must have a talk now, Lizabetha Prokofievna; I am very
anxious for it." He smiled at her once more. "Remember that
today, for the last time, I am out in the air, and in the company
of my fellow-men, and that in a fortnight I shall I certainly be
no longer in this world. So, in a way, this is my farewell to
nature and to men. I am not very sentimental, but do you know, I
am quite glad that all this has happened at Pavlofsk, where at
least one can see a green tree."

"But why talk now?" replied Lizabetha Prokofievna, more and more
alarmed; "are quite feverish. Just now you would not stop
shouting, and now you can hardly breathe. You are gasping."

"I shall have time to rest. Why will you not grant my last wish?
Do you know, Lizabetha Prokofievna, that I have dreamed of
meeting you for a long while? I had often heard of you from
Colia; he is almost the only person who still comes to see me.
You are an original and eccentric woman; I have seen that for
myself--Do you know, I have even been rather fond of you?"

"Good heavens! And I very nearly struck him!"

"You were prevented by Aglaya Ivanovna. I think I am not
mistaken? That is your daughter, Aglaya Ivanovna? She is so
beautiful that I recognized her directly, although I had never
seen her before. Let me, at least, look on beauty for the last
time in my life," he said with a wry smile. "You are here with
the prince, and your husband, and a large company. Why should you
refuse to gratify my last wish?"

"Give me a chair!" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, but she seized
one for herself and sat down opposite to Hippolyte. "Colia, you
must go home with him," she commanded and tomorrow I will come
my self. "

"Will you let me ask the prince for a cup of tea?... I am
exhausted. Do you know what you might do, Lizabetha Prokofievna?
I think you wanted to take the prince home with you for tea. Stay
here, and let us spend the evening together. I am sure the prince
will give us all some tea. Forgive me for being so free and easy--
but I know you are kind, and the prince is kind, too. In fact, we
are all good-natured people--it is really quite comical."

The prince bestirred himself to give orders. Lebedeff hurried
out, followed by Vera.

"It is quite true," said Mrs. Epanchin decisively. "Talk, but not
too loud, and don't excite yourself. You have made me sorry for
you. Prince, you don't deserve that I should stay and have tea
with you, yet I will, all the same, but I won't apologize. I
apologize to nobody! Nobody! It is absurd! However, forgive me,
prince, if I blew you up--that is, if you like, of course. But
please don't let me keep anyone," she added suddenly to her
husband and daughters, in a tone of resentment, as though they
had grievously offended her. "I can come home alone quite well."

But they did not let her finish, and gathered round her eagerly.
The prince immediately invited everyone to stay for tea, and
apologized for not having thought of it before. The general
murmured a few polite words, and asked Lizabetha Prokofievna if
she did not feel cold on the terrace. He very nearly asked
Hippolyte how long he had been at the University, but stopped
himself in time. Evgenie Pavlovitch and Prince S. suddenly grew
extremely gay and amiable. Adelaida and Alexandra had not
recovered from their surprise, but it was now mingled with
satisfaction; in short, everyone seemed very much relieved that
Lizabetha Prokofievna had got over her paroxysm. Aglaya alone
still frowned, and sat apart in silence. All the other guests
stayed on as well; no one wanted to go, not even General Ivolgin,
but Lebedeff said something to him in passing which did not seem
to please him, for he immediately went and sulked in a corner.
The prince took care to offer tea to Burdovsky and his friends as
well as the rest. The invitation made them rather uncomfortable.
They muttered that they would wait for Hippolyte, and went and
sat by themselves in a distant corner of the verandah. Tea was
served at once; Lebedeff had no doubt ordered it for himself and
his family before the others arrived. It was striking eleven.